


Solitary

by Mamazero



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:52:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamazero/pseuds/Mamazero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spin off of my story Lives of the Heroes.  This is my sweet Tamlen's story.  Sometimes, the quiet guy gets the girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Solitary. Existing alone. This describes me pretty well. I have been the odd one out for as long as I can remember. Growing up in Skyhold, I was always singled out, whether for being bigger then the other kids, or because of the way I looked. As I got older, I got use to the occasional person staring and the whispers, or, more often then not, people stopping me and asking how I got to be so tall._ 'Elves aren't suppose to be that tall _.' That's what most people tell me anyway. My father is tall, at least as tall as the average human man, and I'm at least a head taller, making me easily the tallest person in Skyhold. The older citizens of the hold will usually stop me on my rounds and tell me how much I look like my father. Like that's something I didn't already know. If it hadn't been for Commander Cullen and my father, Fenris, I never would have left the library. People make me uncomfortable, crowds are unbearable, unless social lubrication is used. I use to get angry, very angry, over constantly being singled out. The Commander and my father taught me to channel my aggression, taught me how to wield a sword, taught me to be one of the best swordsmen in Thedas._

 

_People are abject and ignorant, at least, that's what I use to think. I use to think all dwarves cared for was profit, Qunari, order, elves, the past, and humans...I use to think the worst of humans. I found them, over all, to be insensible, objectionable and offensive. They always seem surprised to learn that I'm a master with a sword, and well educated. My parents had taught me well. My mother had taught me Elven, the language of her people, the Dalish. My father had taught me Tevene and Qunlat, the language of his homeland, and their enemies. My mother's husband, whom she had married before the two had met my father, had taught me not only the language of his homeland, Antivan, but also to read and write. The older I got, the more I found that I enjoyed the company of others less, and the company of books more. I could disappear, be someone else for a time, be some_ **where** _else. I could transubstantiate from the tall, dark skinned elf with the white hair to anything I wanted. A pirate captain, sailing on the Venefication Sea, commandeering unsuspecting trade ships coming to Antiva from Par Vollen. To a Grey Warden, hacking and slashing a path through the Darkspawn horde in the Deep Roads._

 

_When I was younger, I dreamed of being a hero. At least that way, when people whispered as I passed, it would be of my epic battle with some high dragon that saved a city, instead of how I looked. I'm not sure when my stance changed, only that it did. As I got older, I found I cared less for what people thought. I suspect it had something to do with my travels with the three girls from Kirkwall. A dwarf with a quick whit, a human mage, and the elven daughter of a wealthy merchant. Life hasn't been the same since then, and I am glad for that._

 

_*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

 

Tamlen paced the small room, his quarters in the barracks at Skyhold. He had been asked by the Lady Mythara, the Inquisitor, to deliver her late husband's eulogy at the feast in his honor. He had been reluctant to accept the honor, thinking that either the Commander's own son, Falon, or his adopted son, Fenlen, would be better choices. Mythara had insisted though, stating that if her late husband had thought enough of Tamlen to promote him to the position of Captain of the Guard, that he should have the honor. He had bowed in respect and accepted her offer. He already knew that he would accolade the heritage of the Inquisitor, by reciting the old Elven Eulogy taught to him in his youth. He would retell the prayer in both it's original Elven and again in the King's tongue. These were things he knew. The reason he was pacing now was his anxiety. He didn't do well with people, and especially not that _many_ people. Commander Cullen Rutherford was a man well liked, and better known. The great hall would be packed, from end to end, with people. Some he knew, others he did not, and the thought had his nerves frazzled. Tamlen stopped pacing, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Feeling slightly more calm, he picked up his armor, deciding to distract himself further with the task of dressing. With a determined focus and slightly shaking hands, he ensured that each buckle and strap was secure, and each piece was properly in place. Taking one more deep, calming breath, he strapped his sword, The Blade of Mercy, to his back and exited the barracks.

 

“Captain.” The guard at the bottom of the stairs to the great hall greeted him, standing at attention. Tamlen paused and nodded at the man in acknowledgment. Scowling, he sifted from foot to foot, unsure if he should ask the question on his mind.

 

“Tell me Garahel, how does it look in there?” Tamlen asked, running his hand nervously through his unruly mop of stark, white hair. Garahel, one of the few guards Tamlen had befriended, gave a pained smile and shook his head.

 

“It's packed. I can't ever remember there being this many people in Skyhold at once. And never this many _important_ people. Did you know the whole royal family is in there?” Garahel answered, softening his posture to a slightly more relaxed state. “Are you going to be alright Tam?”

 

“Yeah, I'll survive. Not the first time I've had strangers gawk.” Tamlen patted the man's shoulder as he passed. Garahel was a good man, he had arrived, with his mother and sister, from Hossberg in the Anderfels, several years ago. He had proven to be one of the better fighters in the guard, earning his position as Tamlen's second in command. Tamlen ascended the stairs, two at a time, watching his feet and avoiding eye contact with the few people standing outside the hall. Had he actually been watching where he was going, he wouldn't have collided with the rather solid man standing right outside the main hall.

 

“I am sorry, Ser...” Tamlen's voice catching in his throat and a look of horror coming across his face as he looked up. It would be just his luck that he'd almost knock over the Prince of Fereldan. Placing his right fist over his heart and bowing deeply, he silently cursed himself for not being more attentive. “My humblest apologies, Prince Duncan.” A cordial laugh from the Prince drew a confused scowl from Tamlen.

 

“It's quite alright, no harm done.” Duncan patted Tamlen on the shoulder and pulled him upright. “I must say though, I wasn't quite expecting to be run into by someone as unique as you.” The Prince held out his hand, which Tamlen reluctantly took. “Prince Duncan. And you are?”

 

“Tamlen Mahariel. Captain of the Guard, oldest son of the Hero of Fereldan, Cara.” Tamlen offered, shaking the Prince's hand. At his introduction, a look of surprise crossed Duncan's face.

 

“The pleasure is mine then, I've heard many stories about your mother from my father. Mostly about their victory over the Archdemon, ending the Fifth Blight.” Duncan placed his gloved forefinger on his lips, thinking as it were. “You know, if I recall correctly, the Guard Captain at the palace told me that one of the best swordsmen he's ever seen was an elven lad named Tamlen.” Duncan's gaze scanned Tamlen, from head to toe. “That wouldn't happen to be you, would it?”

 

“Uh....” Tamlen scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable with talking to someone new. The fact that one didn't simply excuse themselves from the Prince's presence without a damn good reason, made things worse. “It....would. Or so I've been told.” Tamlen gave the Prince a nervous grin and shifted from foot to foot.

 

“Tamlen, there you are, we were all wondering where you'd gotten caught up at.” Tamlen gave a great sigh of relief and his shoulders slumped, silently thanking the Maker for his sister's intervention. “Ah, pardon me, your highness.” Rinna stopped, standing next to her brother, and gave the Prince a deep bow. Glancing in Tamlen's direction, Rinna raised her eyebrows. “I believe you have a eulogy to finish preparing for.” Taking the hint, Tamlen bowed again to the Prince before turning and kissing his sister's cheek.

 

“Ma serannas.” Tamlen whispered in his sister's ear as he passed by, relieved to be making his escape. Behind him, he could hear the Prince and Rinna engaged in conversation. Sometimes, he envied his sister for how easily she could approach people she hadn't met and talk to them. Sometimes. Tamlen continued his walk across the great hall. Glancing around, he was relieved to find that none were paying him any attention. Most people were engrossed in idle chat with their neighbors or were watching Fenlen, who, for his part, was glaring right back. Tamlen reached the seat next to his younger sister, Ashalle, and sat with a slight _clink_ and another sigh.

 

“There you are TamTam!” Ashalle exclaimed happily, turning to look at the seated man. The smile on her face faded and her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Are you alright Tam?” Ashalle reached over and brushed the hair out of her brother's face. He nodded in response, his eyes closed.

 

“Kaffas. Sto bene, Ashalle.” Tamlen responded after some time. Leaning forward in his seat, he ran his hand over his face. He slowly opened his eyes half way before reaching for the mug of ale on the table in front of him. Lifting the mug to his lips, he tipped it back and finished off the drink with a few loud gulps.

 

“You shouldn't swear in polite company boy.” Fenris chastised his eldest son, placing his hand on the man's shoulder and taking a seat on Tamlen's opposite side. Tamlen swallowed hard a few times, exhaling sharply.

 

“I am sorry, father.” Tamlen coughed once, a deep almost wheezing sound. “That was Zevran's brandy, I think.” He coughed a few more times, Fenris letting out a throaty chuckle on one side of him, Ashalle patting his back on the other. After a few more coughs, Tamlen raised his hand, waving off his sister's concern. “I'm fine.”

 

“Perhaps that will help you loosen up. Get you through Cullen's eulogy without incident.” Fenris commented, the smile on his face reflected in the teasing tone of his voice. He placed his hand on his son's head, ruffling his hair and drawing his attention. Fenris leaned forward in his seat, his face not far from Tamlen's own. “I am proud of you, Tamlen.” His father's words brought a genuine smile to Tamlen's face, the first one all day.

 

“Thank you, father. I needed that.” Glancing at his father, Tamlen took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if it was the Antivan brandy, or his father's reassurance, but he felt much better.

 

_*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

 

“Hahren na melana sahin. Emma ir abelas. Souver'inan isala hamin. Vhenan him dor'felas, in uthenera na revas. Vir suahn'nehn. Vir dirthera. Vir samahl la numin. Vir lath sa'vunin.” Tamlen shifted from one foot to the other. Hundreds of sets of eyes trained on him, standing in front of the throne, delivering Commander Cullen's eulogy. He lifted his eyes from the floor, looking out into the crowd, finding the courage to continue when he spotted his father. Fenris nodded, encouraging him to go on. Taking a deep breath, Tamlen continued. “Elder your time is come. Now I am filled with sorrow. Weary eyes need resting. Heart has become grey and slow, in waking sleep is freedom. We sing, rejoice. We tell the tale. We laugh and cry. We love one more day. Na via lerno victoria, Commander.” With his final words, Tamlen brought his right fist to rest over his heart and bowed his head. A final salute of honor, before descending the stairs and returning to his seat.

 

“Well done.” Cara Mahariel, Tamlen's mother, said as he took his seat across from her. Her smile infectious, he gave her his own brilliant smile and small chuckle. “Not as bad as you were expecting it to be, now was it?” She asked, raising her brow.

 

“Well, the breach didn't re-open and suck me into the Fade itself, so I suppose it wasn't too bad.” Tamlen replied, pulling a chunk of bread off the small loaf in front of him and taking a bite. “I still don't like people though.” He added around a mouthful of bread, earning him a scowl from his mother.

 

“How dare you. How dare you all sit here and pretend to mourn, cry, while we have to stay strong.” Cole whispered from somewhere behind Tamlen, who spun around to look at the spirit. “Why did this happen? Doesn't mother deserve to be happy? First it was _**_him_**_ , leaving her spirit broken and her body with child, and now it's father. Too many people, just go away and leave our family alone. Ma halam.” A silence had fallen over the hall, everyone's eyes fixated on Cole.

 

“I said **stop**!” Fenlen's hand shot out, fingers curled, as if clutching something. Several gasps and cries of alarm rang out as Cole's hands went to his throat and he stopped speaking. Tamlen spun back around, eyes falling on Fenlen. A look of rage enveloping Fenlen's usually carefree features.

 

“Fenlen! Stop this!” Falon shouted, standing to grab his brother's arm. Electricity arced and popped where his hand touched. Crying out in pain, he pulled his hand back, protectively cradling it against his chest. Mythara stood, concern and upset written on her features, tears in her eyes.

  


Tamlen watched as Fenlen lowered his hand, a look of horror settling on his face as his gaze shifted from Cole, to his mother, Mythara, and finally to his brother, Falon. The man shifted, his eyes scanning the faces of the guests in the hall. Fenlen shook his head and pushed his way past many of the guests, escaping to the rotunda. The door slamming shut behind him, echoing off the walls in the quiet hall. Lady Mythara let out a sigh, her shaking legs almost buckling under her weight.

  


“I am sorry. I can control myself. I know better than to read others thoughts, but his were too loud, too heavy. I was speaking before I knew what was happening. Mythara, I am sorry.” Cole offered an apology, on the verge of tears. Mythara walked to him, before crouching down and pulling him into a hug. She made soothing sounds and rocked the blond boy back and forth. Whispers rippled through the guests, murmurs of upset and confusion. Tamlen stood slowly, as the two guards posted at the main door to the hall glanced his direction.

  


“Captain? Your orders?” One of them asked, putting his hand on the pommel of his sword. The whole room was tense, Tamlen could feel several of the patrons watching him. He glanced at his parents before looking in Lady Mythara's direction. She scowled, gently shaking her head. He nodded at her before turning back to the guards still awaiting his orders.

  


“Leave him.” Tamlen's voice was deep, full of authority. The smaller of the two guards, a new recruit if he remembered correctly, looked shocked.

  


“But Captain...” The man started to object.

  


“I said **Leave Him!** ” Tamlen's voice boomed in the quiet of the hall. “I will deal with him later.” After several long minutes, Mia, Fenlen's sister, walked around the table to stand next to Tamlen as the guests in the hall went back to their conversations.

  


“Thank you, Tam.” Mia said, placing her petite hand on his elbow, acquiring his attention. “What do you want to bet this will be the talk of Thedas for the next several months to come?” She asked, grinning up at him. Tamlen's response was a decisive snort and a roll of his eyes.

  


“This is _**preposterous!**_ ” One of the noblemen bellowed, standing and scowling at Tamlen. “That young man is **dangerous**! He should be slapped in irons and dragged off to the nearest Circle tower!”

  


“If there's anything I learned from that blighted incident in Kirkwall.” Fenris interjected, rising from his seat next to where Tamlen stood. All eyes in the hall were now on the older dark skinned elf. “It's that mages are not _creatures,_ something to be slapped in cages.” His hands tightened into fists at his sides. “Everyone deserves freedom, which is something that sadly, not all have.” Fenris took a deep breath then waved his hand dismissively and shrugged. “Besides, even if you were to drag the boy off to the Circle tower, it would only be a matter of time before he found a way to escape, or more likely, someone went to rescue him. Fenlen is a good lad, with a good head on his shoulders. Honestly, Thedas would be a better place with more men like him in it, mage or not.” Fenris finished, scowling at the man who had made the objection. Without a further word, the man huffed and stormed out. Tamlen watched his father, wide eyed and mouth agape. Taking it as a sign that the feast was over, most of the guests started shuffling out of the hall, most whispering about how exciting it had been.

  


“Well, _that_ was unexpected.” Mia stated in awe. Tamlen looked down at the girl with his eyebrows raised in disbelief himself and nodded in agreement. “I think that's the most I've ever heard your father say at once.” Tamlen chuckled.

  


“You should hear him when he's drunk. He switches between Qunlat, Tevene and the King's tongue. Not to mention he gets loud.” Tamlen nudged Mia with his elbow, causing the girl to smile. “Don't worry about Fen, he'll be alright. I won't allow anyone to take him to the Circle.” Tamlen's kind words brought the tell-tale sting of tears to Mia's eyes. She sniffled and wrapped her arms around the taller man's waist.

  


“Thank you, Tam.” Mia managed to squeak out, her voice slightly quivering. He smirked and gently rubbed her back, comforting her further. The sound of one of the heavy wooden chairs scooting across the floor drew their attention to Master Hawke. The two of them watched as the elder mage walked around the end of the table and over to stand in front of Fenris.

  


“Fenris.” Hawke said, nodding at his former companion. Fenris nodded in return, but said nothing. The two men stood, regarding each other for several minutes before Hawke broke the silence. “May I ask what has caused you to change your mind about mages? Years ago you would have been all for throwing the boy to the Templars.” Fenris' eyebrows drew together in thought. He remained silent for a while, finding a way to put his thoughts into words.

  


“I am old, Hawke. I'm not the bitter young man you once knew. I've learned to let things go, and I've come to realize things that should have been obvious to me back then. I realize now that it was mages like Anders and Danarius that colored my views of all mages in a foul light.” Fenris took a deep breath before continuing. “But, after traveling with you for so long, and after meeting Vivienne and Dorian, even if he is from the Imperium, I've found that not all mages are the same. Those who would seek power over others are the minority, not the majority.” Fenris shrugged, his eyes drifting to Mythara. “As for the boy, I've watched him grow up along side my own children. And, while he does need to learn to control his temper, else it get him in trouble, he is a bright lad, with a good head on his shoulders.”

  


“Fair enough, I suppose. Those who seek power are usually the first to abuse what they have, and those that have great power are usually the last ones to use it.” Hawke said, reaching up to run his hand through his greying black hair. Fenris nodded, humming in agreement. The two men stood there, looking at each other for quite some time. Tamlen cleared his throat, breaking the stalemate and gently squeezed Mia's shoulder.

  


“Why don't you go check on Fen. See if you can convince him to come back down.” Tamlen recommended. Mia smiled and nodded, pulling Tamlen down to kiss his cheek before dashing off towards her brother's quarters. He watched her go with a skip in her step, when he heard a snicker from somewhere off to his left, he turned to see his father smirking at him. “Don't look at me like that, old man. It's not what you think.” Tamlen frowned, a blush blossoming on his cheeks.

  


“He has to be one of yours.” Hawke declared, a grin on his face as he shook his head.

  


“That he is. My oldest, Tamlen.” Fenris shared Hawke's grin, crossing his arms over his chest as the two men turned to face Tamlen. “You should see him in action, he's better with a sword than I ever was.” Tamlen rolled his eyes at his father's boasting.

  


“And Captain of the Guard.” Tamlen tossed over his shoulder as he turned and started walking towards the door that lead to the kitchens. “Oh, and well educated! Let's not forget about the fact that I can read, write and speak five languages fluently and know more then enough in two others!” Tamlen spun back around, swinging his arms wide and continuing to walk, backwards, towards the door. “And let's not forget that I'm possibly the tallest elf in all of Thedas!” Tamlen rolled his eyes as he turned around once again and pulled the door open. He could hear his father's laughter well after the door had clamored closed.

  


_*_ _~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

  


  
Tamlen sat in the quiet corner on the first floor of the tavern where the light of the fire barely reached him. He was nursing a glass of wine and idly munching on the platter of assorted fruits, bread, cheeses and dried meats in front of him. After escaping the Great Hall, he had wandered through the kitchen, grabbing a variety of food to nibble on before heading to the barracks. There, he had informed Garahel that he was taking the rest of the evening off and going to the tavern for a drink. Garahel had simply laughed and told him not to forget to take off his armor, and to enjoy himself. Advice that Tamlen had acquiesced to in the end. So here he was, enjoying a book on the varied sword fighting techniques of Thedas in nothing but a simple, white cotton shirt and his leather breeches and foot bindings. Not far away, his younger sister, Ashalle, and his younger brother, Leto, sat at one of the tables.

  


“TamTam, you should join us. Varric's daughter, Grace, suggested we all get to know each other better over a game of Wicked Grace. Falon and Mia are collecting everyone else.” Ashalle called out, hoping to coax her quietest sibling out to socialize. Tamlen just smirked at his sister and shook his head.

  


“We'll see, Ashalle.” Tamlen replied softly, causing his sister to beam with delight. She really was easy to please. He continued to sit quietly, reading his book, as the rest of the group filed into the tavern and took their seats. Falon was followed in by Prince Duncan and his younger sister, the Princess Gwen. Falon and Duncan had been talking rather animatedly about battle scars, Falon giving a rather extravagant lie on how he had managed to receive the scar on his face. Tamlen rolled his eyes, having been there when the young boy had tripped and fallen, face first, into the pile of broken blades near the training grounds. Falon had been lucky that Fenlen was there, else he would have bled to death, instead of simply having a gash that ran down the right side of his face. Shortly after Falon's group had arrived, a small dwarven woman with golden blond hair and a pretty human woman with black hair and brown eyes walked in and sat at the far end of the table. Tamlen could only assume that the dwarven lass was Grace, Varric's daughter. Judging by the ease with which her and her companion chatted, Tamlen guessed the other was one of Hawke's daughters. After some time, the door opened again and a hush fell over the group who had been merrily chatting moments ago.

  


“So Fen, are you feeling better now, after your little outburst? Or are you out for blood, in one of your foul moods?” Tamlen heard Falon ask and looked up from his book. Fenlen snorted, rolled his eyes and shook his head, but didn't move from where he stood. Mia scowled at Falon, but everyone else remained tense and silent. Tamlen shook his own head and rolled his eyes, as much as he liked the quiet, this silence was unnerving.

  


“Falon, you're an idiot.” Tamlen stated, breaking the tense silence. Grace, Hawke's daughter Leandra, Duncan and Gwen jumped, having not realized he was even there. Falon shot a glare in his direction and he chuckled, a deep, course sound.

  


“You know Tam, I __would__ challenge you to a fight between men, but you'd have to actually __be__ a man to qualify.” Falon instigated. Tamlen could see the group who had grown up in Skyhold collectively roll their eyes, and Falon gave a smirk. Their guests still seemed ill at ease, not knowing what to expect. Deciding to bite and accept Falon's challenge, Tamlen closed his book and lightly set it on the table.

  


“You didn't complain about me being man enough last time we were alone in the barracks, Falon.” Tamlen leaned forward into the light, a smug grin firmly in place, resting his elbows on his knees. His large, green eyes laughing at the flush that crept up Falon's face. At the end of the table, Grace stifled a giggle, catching on quickly enough to the turn of events. Tamlen watched her as she covered her mouth and pretended to cough, the rosy apples of her cheeks giving her smile away. Everyone watched as Falon opened and closed his mouth several times, appearing very much like a fish out of water. Finally, he settled on downing the last of the ale in his mug in one, long draft.

  


“Well played, my friend.” Falon choked, before belching loudly. The Prince was the first to laugh, a hearty sound, full bodied and joyous. Before long, everyone else in the room followed suit. The tension had finally been broken and Fenlen lightly smacked his brother in the back of the head as he walked past to take his seat. “What? I broke the awkward tension in the room, didn't I?” Falon asked, rubbing the spot on the back of his head where his brother's hand had connected.

  


“Actually, I believe that it was Tamlen who successfully did that.” Fenlen leaned forward, grabbing the pitcher off the table and pouring himself a mug of ale. “Besides, of the people in this room that we know, I believe that __I'm__ the only one who can claim to 'truly be a man'.” Fenlen gave his brother a knowing look while leaning back in his seat and taking a swig of his drink.

  


“By all the Gods. Every. Single. One. Of. Them. __Please__ spare us the details.” Leto piped in. A through look of disgust twisting his face as his tongue flicked out in a mock gag. “I know there are at least three of us in this room who __really__ don't want to hear about your exploits with our sister.” A few confused looks fluttered across the faces of the guests in the room.

  


“I think it really only bothers you, Leto. Rinna tells me everything, and I've never known TamTam to care about much of anything if it wasn't a book or a sword.” Ashalle shrugged. Tamlen nodded in agreement, his brother shooting him another disgusted look.

  


“What are we talking about?” Rinna asked, finally slipping into the room and closing the door behind herself. She strolled over to the table, grabbing some of the grapes off the platter set in the middle before popping one in her mouth. In the corner, Tamlen snorted before picking his abandoned book back up and resting his feet on the table in front of him.

  


“I believe they were discussing your escapades with Fen.” Tamlen supplied easily enough, not looking up from what he was reading. Rinna turned to pin Fenlen with a glare and the man threw his hands up in defense. “On that note, may I please request that you keep your volume to a minimum, or the balcony doors closed. You two proved quite the distraction for my night guardsmen two evenings ago.” Rinna smiled at her brother before taking a seat across Fenlen's lap, carefully resting her legs across the arm of the chair.

  


“Well __TamTam__ , perhaps you need to train your guards better. I mean, if they get distracted _t_ _ _hat__ easily.” Rinna situated a grape between her lips before rolling it into her mouth with her tongue and biting into it with an obnoxious crunch. “And you really should come and __actually__ join us, reading in the dark isn't good for your eyes.” She tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at Tamlen, who rolled his eyes and kept reading. They'd had these arguments before, both the volume issue and the reading in the dark. Tamlen couldn't do much about the loudness of their bedroom adventures, but they both knew that elves could see in the dark.

  


“Not that the banter isn't interesting, but are we going to get around to playing Wicked Grace? That __is__ why we're all here, isn't it?” Grace interjected, placing a deck of cards on the table and drawing everyone's attention. With a round of nods and murmurs of agreement from almost everyone, she shuffled the deck and dealt the cards. “Let's just hope Curly Junior here is better at this game than his father supposedly was.”

  


_*_ _~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

  


Tamlen continued to sit in the corner, though his book had long since been abandoned and he'd consumed several more glasses of wine since the group had started playing. Falon was a horrible Wicked Grace player, and the poor man was now down to nothing but his small clothes.

  


“I'll play next round, once Falon is out for good. ” Tamlen said, his smile growing at the mounting anger and embarrassment on Falon's face. At the end of the table, Grace cackled, enjoying every moment of her winning streak.

  


“Ooh....If TamTam's actually going to play Grace, you'd better be prepared to lose.” Ashalle giggled, happy to be watching the game, even if she wasn't playing anymore herself. Her confidence in her brother's abilities was unwavering.

  


“Don't count me out just yet.” Duncan announced, the barest hint of intoxication edging its way into his voice. His sister sat next to Ashalle and Mia, the three girls trading whispers and giggles with each other. Given their ages, Tamlen would venture to guess it was over which of the men here was the most attractive. He knew Ashalle and Mia would frequently discuss such things while watching the soldiers practice in the training grounds. Tamlen was distracted enough by the girls giggles that he missed the last play of the hand, and Falon's inevitable defeat.

  


“Take'em off, Curly Junior.” Grace was grinning from ear to ear, holding her hand out towards Falon. Fenlen gave an amused snort at his brother's misfortune causing Rinna, who was asleep in his lap, to stir and reposition before settling back in. Downing the remainder of the ale that was in his glass, Falon stood and swiftly removed his small clothes. He kept his manhood firmly covered with one hand as he tossed the remains of his dignity onto the heap with the rest of his clothes.

  


“I shall take my leave then, goodnight.” Falon gave a small bow before promptly dashing towards the door of the tavern and out into the chilly night air. Grace gathered the cards back up and shuffled the deck.

  


“You joining in, Snowflake?” Grace asked, gesturing to the now vacant seat on her right. Tamlen stood and drained his glass before walking over and taking Falon's empty chair. “Here.” Grace gathered up the few sovereigns left on the table and divided them evenly between herself, Duncan and Tamlen. While she was busy with dividing up the money, Tamlen had grabbed the deck and dealt the cards.

  


“Ooh. Ballsy move there, Snowflake, touching _my_ cards without asking.” Grace grinned at Tamlen, who in turn gave her a smirk and winked. His reaction caused the girl to howl with laughter so hard it left her gasping for air. “You're alright, Snowflake. Now, let's see how much money I can milk from you two poor saps.”

  


_*_ _~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

  


“So you were just teasing him earlier? And here I've been thinkingabout how you're kind of pretty for a guy, y'know?” Prince Duncan was drunk. Drunk and hitting on Tamlen, who wasn't paying much attention to much else besides the cards in his hand. Even feeling the slight tingle of alcohol in his head, he was still good enough to beat Grace. Something that was proving to be unacceptable to the dwarven lass. In the corner, the three girls who had been so chatty earlier were content to sit and braid each others hair.

  


“Is your brother really making advances on mine?” Ashalle asked, tapping Gwen on the shoulder. The Princess rolled her eyes and shrugged.

  


“I'm pretty sure Duncan doesn't care, so long as it moves. Not that _that_ particular line of thinking has gotten him anywhere before.” Gwen stated flatly, to which Duncan turned in his seat and sneered at his sister.

  


“Your move.” Tamlen leaned forward on the table, giving Grace a seductive smirk and raising his eyebrow, knowing that this would be her last play. His look of confidence slowly turned to one of shock and confusion as Grace accepted defeat and placed her cards on the table.

  


“What's that look for, don't tell me I won.” Grace looked confused as she glanced up at Tamlen's face. Tamlen, with brows furrowed, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

  


“No, I won. I'm just slightly uncomfortable with the fact that the Prince of Fereldan is drunk, and has his hand dangerously close to my manhood.” Tamlen stated, eyes closed. “Duncan, I kindly ask you to remove your hand, or risk losing it.” Several snickers and chortles of laughter could be heard from around the room.

  


“Duel me. If you win, I'll never speak of this again, if I win....hmm....I'll have to think on that one.” Duncan responded, not quite as drunk as he had been leading on. The man gave Tamlen's thigh a couple good pats and stood. Duncan held out his hand to Tamlen and swayed slightly. “Deal?” Tamlen scowled at the hand offered to him but decided that winning a duel with the drunken Prince would be almost as easy as winning Wicked Grace had been. Taking Duncan's hand, Tamlen shook it and pulled himself to his feet.

  


“Deal.” Tamlen agreed, staring down at the man in front of him. Duncan blinked hard a few times, having trouble focusing on Tamlen's face.

  


“Andraste's tits! I don't remember you being that tall earlier.” Duncan cursed, swaying again and blinking several times. Tamlen rolled his eyes and started trekking towards the door.

  


“I tend to slouch. A lot.” Tamlen offered, hand poised on the door handle, waiting for everyone else to follow.

  


_*_ _~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*_

  


The small group of new friends had collected themselves enough to follow the two men out into the courtyard's training grounds. The duel had been fairly one sided thus far. Tamlen had, of course, gone easy on Duncan. It wouldn't reflect well on Tam to beat the future King of Fereldan in a duel while he was drunk. The few times that Tamlen had been put on the defensive, he had easily parried and blocked the wild strikes of his opponent. For the most part though, he had been keeping the Prince on his toes with simple attacks meant to be obvious. Recognizing how late it was and with most of the guests leaving in the morning, Tamlen decided to end the fight. As Duncan raised his sword and swept it in a wide arc, Tamlen dropped into a crouch, kicking his leg out and sweeping Duncan's legs out from under him.

  


“Enough. I concede.” Duncan panted, his eyes crossing as he stared at the tip of Tamlen's sword, only inches from his nose. Tamlen gave the man a smile, removing his sword from Duncan's face and offering him a hand. “Perhaps next time, we can do this when I'm not pissed drunk and you won't go easy on me.” Duncan chuckled, pulling himself to his feet with Tamlen's assistance.

  


“Perhaps.” Tamlen clasped the Prince on the shoulder. With a round of laughter from all, the group dispersed for the evening and headed towards their respective rooms. Tomorrow would bring new adventures for all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first week of riding after setting out from Skyhold had been uneventful to say the least. They had stopped and resupplied their rations at Redcliffe early in the morning and had tried not to linger long. Seeing the Templar armor as unnecessary until they neared Gwaren, Tamlen had opted for the Tevinter style of armor his father had worn for years. Grace had noted that Tam garnered quite a bit of attention, wanted or not, just for walking into town looking like a Vint. She guessed it had to do with one of two things, the peoples of Redcliffe's hatred for anything Tevene after Alexius' hostile magic takeover years ago, or the fact that Tamlen and herself looked quite the odd pair. Shrugging it off, Grace spotted a weapon smithy and had decided to drag Tamlen along to look at the wares in the open front shop.

 

“Ooh….those are nice, excellent craftsmanship, not too heavy. Are these Dragonbone?” Grace asked the shopkeeper, not turning her attention away from the perfectly balanced set of daggers she was eying.

 

“Excellent eye miss, yes, the blades themselves are Dragonbone, the cross-guards and pommels are Silverite and the handles are an aged Sylvanwood. You won't find any better craftsmanship this side of the Frostbacks, I can guarantee you that.” The man replied, a proud look in his eyes.

 

“Ooh….how much?” Grace asked, practically drooling over the weapons.

 

“4,000 Gold a piece, so eight for the pair, miss.” The man supplied with a nod, a firm set to his jaw. Grace frowned, while the blades were some of the best she had come across, she had seen better. They were good, but not 8,000 gold good.

 

“Is there any way I can get you to knock off a couple thousand gold?”

 

“Sorry miss, have to recoup the capital on those blades, and try to make a profit somewhere. You understand, yeah?” The shopkeeper gave her an honestly regretful smile. Slightly disappointed, Grace turned to Tamlen, who was watching the market square streets carefully.

 

“Hey. Snowflake.” Grace tapped him on the arm to draw his attention. Tamlen shifted his weight and turned to look at Grace, saying nothing, but making it clear she had his attention. “You don't suppose, what's his name? Mark? Old Master Harritt's apprentice, would be able to make something like these, do you?” Grace offered one of the daggers to Tamlen, careful of the unbelievably sharp blade. The warrior took the blade, bringing the weapon close to his face for inspection, his helm making it difficult. After several minutes and a few muffled comments later, Grace rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I can't understand you when you mumble, Snowflake.”

 

With an eye roll of his own, Tamlen removed his helm to better respond. “I said, 'Yes, I do believe that he can make something like this, and that we may even have the materials in one of the storage rooms in Skyhold.' Could you hear me that time, Grace?” There was a tinge of annoyance to his voice. Grace noticed him shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and watched his eyes slide from side to side, watching. “Can we discuss this elsewhere, preferably somewhere far away from here.” The look in Tamlen's eyes a pleading one. Slightly confused, Grace followed his ever shifting gaze and noticed that a growing crowd had formed. People stopped to openly stare at her companion and whisper.

 

“By the Maker….” The shopkeeper muttered, earning him Grace's full attention and a disapproving glower. Tamlen shuffled uncomfortably and ran his hand through his unruly and slightly sweaty hair. Grace scowled further, finally fully realizing what was happening.

 

“Thank you for the help, but I'm afraid that your price is too steep for myself.” Grace placed the dagger in her hand back down on the table in front of the shop and turned, grabbed Tamlen's arm, and started to march off in the direction of the city gates.

 

“Grace, wait!” Tamlen yelped, stumbling and almost falling from being drug around by someone half his height. Once they were some distance away from the main crowd, Grace released his arm and spun around, frown still firmly in place. Tamlen took the opportunity to straighten himself and push his hair back up out of his face.

 

“Is it always like this for you? People you don't know staring and whispering?” Grace asked, arms crossed and her now sad frown directed to a particularly interesting rock near her feet. After a short time, Tamlen sighed and pat her head gently. Grace finally looked up, Tamlen's hand still in place on the crown of her head, a slightly surprised look filtering onto her countenance.

 

“Come on Grace, there are other places to discuss such things.” Tamlen gave Grace a small smirk before heading in the direction they had stabled the horses while they were stopped. Grace watched him walk away, still slightly in shock at the ease with which her companion had brushed off the open criticism of others.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but if I want to actually get these chapters out in a somewhat timely manner, I'm going to have to settle on less than 6000 words.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Tam's story!!!


End file.
